


Let's Stay Home Tonight.

by Vanimelda4



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Roommates, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22639951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanimelda4/pseuds/Vanimelda4
Summary: John and Sherlock have been sharing a dorm room for the last three months.They see fairly little of each other because Sherlock flees their shared habitat every chance he gets.Today he's having some trouble doing so however since the door is locked and the key is missing.Gay panic, misunderstandings and fluff ensue.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 157





	Let's Stay Home Tonight.

The door stays stubbornly unresponsive underneath his hand as sherlock turns the doorknob.  
He tries again but the front door to the dorm rooms he just recently started sharing with John Watson won't budge. 

It's locked. 

Obviously. 

Their door is never locked. 

Well, sometimes John locks it at night but not always. If Sherlock is out at night John makes sure to leave it unlocked because, even after the short three months they've known each other, he's figured out that Sherlock tends to forget to bring his keys when he goes out...or he just misplaces them.

Sherlock will never admit to the fact that he loses his keys on a regular basis. Sherlock Holmes does not lose anything. Let alone something as trivial as house-keys. 

He hazards a sideways glance at John where he is currently seated on their secondhand sofa.  
John is reading one of his medical textbooks.  
Or...he's pretending to read anyway.  
His eyes shift across the pages in a pattern far too random for him to actually be reading.  
He also hasn't turned over a page in about 15 minutes.  
Sure, John's a slow reader, but he's not _that_ slow. 

Against his better judgment Sherlock tries the door again.  
It still won't budge. 

“The door is locked”, he says. 

“Hmmmm?”, John's reply as his eyes quickly glance over to Sherlock where he is standing, dejectedly, by the door, only to return to the page that he _still_ hasn't turned over. 

And it is in that moment that Sherlock just _knows_.

It's all rather elementary if you put two and two together. 

John has locked the door and has hidden the key.......

\- For a fraction of a second John's eyes flit to the other side of the room - 

…..in his bedroom.

Of course. 

It's the one place where Sherlock never goes and demanding to be let in there now would be weird. And if he does demand to go in there and doesn't find the key it would put their, already flimsy, acquaintanceship on even shakier ground as it is already on now.  
He's locked in. 

With John. 

_By_ John. 

For the life of him he can't figure out why John would do such a thing. 

Sure, they haven't really been getting along since they met a couple of months ago by the luck of the draw that is “room assignments”, but for John to play a prank like this on him seems sort of.....out of character.....

Granted, he's not quite sure what John's character exactly is.  
They've spent virtually no time at all together these last three months.  
Sure, he knows that that's mostly his own doing. Sherlock tries to spend as little time as possible in their shared rooms when John is there. He spends his days wandering the streets of the city, trying to imprint their every twist and curve into his mind so as to form an accurate mental map, he peruses libraries and museums and he does experiments in the school laboratory well after closing time until someone finds him and kicks him out again. 

He was actually on his way to the school lab right now.  
He's got some yeast samples he's been needing to check in on. 

Sherlock has no idea what John does all day.  
John lives in a world vastly different from his own.  
John is captain of the rugby team, he's popular, has loads of friends.....loads of girlfriends....

Sherlock bangs his head against the door.  
It still won't budge.  
John flinches slightly on the sofa where he sits but he quickly regains his composure. 

“Where's the key, John”, Sherlock says. 

“Oh...gosh....I really don't know”, John replies, trying to sound as innocent as he possibly can and failing utterly. 

_gosh_

Sherlock has never heard John use the word “gosh” ever before.  
He might as well have gone all in and said “golly”. 

John is such a bad liar. 

He realizes that this is actually one of the first things about John's personality he's learned and he can't help but smile a little.

“Will you please get the key, John?”. He's decided to go for the nice approach. Maybe John can be persuaded to end his prank prematurely if he just remains calm and kind......easier said than done. 

Sherlock had hoped that John would be......maybe.....different?......from all the other jocks. The other rugby boys. The kind of boys that laugh at boys like Sherlock. Boys like Sherlock who aren't quite built as athletic as them, boys that don't know the difference between a rugbyball and a football, boys who actually enjoy chemistry class, boys who don't know how to act at parties, how to talk to people and make a conversation last longer than 2 minutes, boys who......

He bangs his head against the door again. 

“Are you alright?” John says. There's actual honest concern in his voice. Sherlock just wishes he'd open the door. 

Doesn't John have other things to do than torment his reclusive roommate?  
Today is Thursday isn't it? John trains inside their dorm-room on Thursday instead of going to the rugby-field. He will do push-ups and all sorts of stretching......Today of all days Sherlock cannot be here.  
Sometimes John trains shirtless.  
Sherlock swallows against a sudden lump in his throat.  
He cannot be here right now. John cannot see him ogling him.  
Because if he is forced to be here, in the same room, with a shirtless John....of course he will look.....of course he will.....John is very good looking and......he shakes his head in an attempt to stop his train of thought.......John also has had a lot of girlfriends......John is straight............John is way out of his league. 

“No? You're not okay?”  
Ironically, thinking of John had somehow made him forget actual John was still here and he jumps slightly as John's hand touches his arm. 

“I'm fine”, he says a little bit too bitingly as he pulls his arm back just a little bit too forcefully. 

“Okay....alright.....sorry......”, John doesn't seem to know what else to say. 

Sherlock sighs.  
“Just get the key.”

“I.....I don't know where it is.”  
It is a lie and they both know it only, John is apparently under the assumption that Sherlock doesn't know he's lying. Somebody really ought to tell him his lying skills are truly pathetic. 

Sherlock wants to say something else. Something biting. Something with icy cold teeth. Something that will shock John and convince him to stop this charade and let Sherlock out.  
He feels like a caged animal. A wolf trapped in a small cage with a lamb.....only.....he's not really sure if he's the wolf or the lamb in this scenario. 

He's never really been this close to John before. It's intoxicating. He finds it hard to think straight. He wants to say something....anything...but John beats him to it:

“You could just stay inside today”, he says. And his face is so open and honest and pure and....hopeful? Why that? Why would John want Sherlock to stay inside? Up till now Sherlock had always thought that, with leaving their rooms any chance he got, he was doing them both a favour. 

He would release himself from the torture of being close to John while knowing that John will never like him like..... _that_.....and he would do John the pleasure of not having to spend time with someone like Sherlock. 

He is very aware of the fact that he is not at all like the boys that John usually hangs around with.....nor is he a pretty girl. 

“Now why would I want to do that?”, again his reply is full of teeth. He's not sure if he means it or not. At this point he's just a frightened and cornered animal ready to lash out at anyone who dares to come close. 

For the briefest of moments an expression very close to “hurt” flits across John's fine and handsome features but it's gone before Sherlock is actually sure he saw it. Before he has time to think it over John has schooled his features back into the easy smile he usually wears. 

“I don't know”, John says, still smiling, his teeth are straight and white and there's a dimple in his left cheek, “maybe we could just......chat.....”

“chat?”

“....for a bit.....get to know each other a bit better.”

Sherlock is at a loss for words but John seems to have found a whole wellspring of them:

“I could make us a cup of tea and we've got those biscuits you like...”

“You know what cookies I like?”

The smile on John's face is now a rather sheepish one as he scratches the back of his neck. It's a rather adorable look on him. 

“Well....”, John says, “you always seem to go through them pretty fast whenever we get them.”

Sherlock hadn't even realized he did that...apparently John has....

“I....”, Sherlock says but he's not quite sure how to follow up a revelation like that. 

“Let's just sit for a bit and we'll look for the keys later. I'm sure they'll turn up”, John continues. Lovely smile still on his face. His ash blonde hair sweeps flatteringly across his forehead and his muscled shoulders and arms, from this close, remind Sherlock of an actual Greek god. 

It is then that Sherlock panics. 

He can _not_ possibly spend an afternoon in close proximity to John Watson. Perfect and lovely John Watson who is always kind and nice, who is a jock but also secretly smart because he studies medicine and wants to be a doctor, John Watson with his sea blue eyes and dimple in his cheek when he smiles, John Watson who does sit-ups without his shirt on.....who remembers which cookies Sherlock likes even though they've only spoken about 4 times in the last three months....John Watson....... _the_ John Watson that Sherlock has had a desperate crush on ever since the moment he shook his hand and said “hi”. 

He has been so good at staying away.  
Right up until this point.  
Where John has decided, for lord knows what unfathomable reason, that playing a prank on Sherlock and locking him inside was a “funny” thing to do.

Only....John doesn't look like he's laughing at Sherlock.  
He looks.....once again.....hopeful.

Sherlock panics even more. 

“I need to get to a funeral”, he says. He really doesn't. But he knows....or rather....hopes...that this will persuade John to give up on this charade, get the key and release Sherlock. 

“Oh no....I had no idea”, John says and, to his credit, he looks honestly shocked this time, “I'll go and look for the key....I think it might be somewhere in my bedroom.”

Sherlock just rolls his eyes and lets out a shaky breath as John quickly makes his way into his bedroom.  
Sherlock hears him rummage around in there and then......

“Oh no.....”

Sherlock's heart drops as he hears those two words muttered from inside of his Adonis of a roommate's messy bedroom. 

When John doesn't come back but only says “oh no” again, slightly louder this time, Sherlock hazards a glance through the partially opened door. 

John is standing by the window, the window is open even though it is February and pretty cold and windy outside still. There is no key in his hand. There is no key to be seen anywhere.  
Just John's messy bedroom littered with rugby gear and study books. Sherlock tries his hardest not to look at the unmade bed in the corner but fails utterly. He feels his cheeks flush.  
John looks equally embarrassed. 

“Erm...”, he says. 

But Sherlock doesn't really need him to explain the situation at this point. He has already deduced all he needs to know from the scene around him. 

“You've put it on the windowsill on the outside of the window because you thought I wouldn't look for it there.”  
Not a question, just a statement, he already knows he's right. 

John nods. 

“And it fell off.”

“Yup.”

A moment of silence between them. Their rooms are on the third floor. There is no simply climbing out the window and getting the key.  
The silence lingers for much longer than is comfortable and then: 

“Sherlock I am _so_ sorry. I had no idea you had to get to a funeral. I honestly didn't mean any harm. Honestly. I really am so, so, so sorry. I'll call someone to go and look for the key outside. Maybe Greg is in the neighborhood. He can let us out. I am so sorry.....I've already said that.....I mean.....man....I really messed this up...I just wanted to.....”

“There's no funeral.”

“Say what now?”

“I just said that so you would give me the key.”

“Oh”

Another silence falls between them where each of them avoids making eye contact with the other at all costs.  
Sherlock finds this particularly difficult because, not looking at John means looking at his bed....where he sleeps....or at his bedroom floor.....where pieces of underwear are strewn around haphazardly.......

He clears his throat. For some reason his mouth has gone dry and his tongue feels as if its made out of wood. 

“I should go....”, he says, knowing full well he doesn't have anywhere to go at the moment. He'll just hide in the living room for a while or the bathroom....the bathroom has a lock.....it feels rather ironic given their current situation but he feels like locking himself in. 

He's already halfway through the process of turning himself around when John suddenly says: 

“How come you don't like me?”

Sherlock just stops in his tracks. And so he just stands there in the middle of John's room, his lower body awkwardly turned towards the door while his upper body is still somewhat facing John, his feet lost between items of clothing, books and empty candy wrappers.

“What?”, all he manges to say. He usually prides himself on his eloquence. Not with John apparently. 

“Why do you dislike me?”, John asks. His eyes two pools of blue that make Sherlock's knees weak and his skin tingle.

“I don't dislike you”, he says. He wants to lie to John but finds he can't. Not about this. 

John's face bears an inscrutable look now.  
“Then....”, John says, “how come you always just flee whenever I'm here.”

“I don't do that.”

John just raises an eyebrow as he crosses his arms and the pose makes him look so authoritarian that Sherlock temporarily forgets his own name. 

“Er....” he replies. 

John chuckles and Sherlock's heart seems to do a somersault. 

“You made up a funeral just to get away from me”, John says. 

“Ah......that.....”

John raises his eyebrow again and this time Sherlock is only slightly more prepared for how good of a look it is on him. 

“I just don't know how to talk to you”, he says. Another truth. John seems to be able to wring the truth right out of him. He really hopes John will stop looking at him like that soon before he gets a little bit more of the truth than he bargained for. Sherlock is pretty sure he'll never be able to come back here after John finds out about...... _that_.....

“We're talking now.”

“Yes....yes we are”, Sherlock _really_ wishes John would stop looking at him like that. 

“I like talking with you.”

“That's......good?”

John chuckles again and Sherlock is afraid he might faint. But fainting would leave him on the floor....face down in between John's underwear.....and so he remains standing. Just barely. 

“Do you want some tea?”, John asks. 

“Sure.”

John chuckles again and then proceeds to make his way past Sherlock back to the living room. 

_Alright_ Sherlock thinks....... _alright_

****************************

Sherlock finds himself sitting on their musty, secondhand sofa next to John. He's currently drinking a cup of tea John made for him. He's already finished his cookies. John brought one for himself and two for Sherlock.  
They're sitting very close. There is no other way to sit on this sofa. Because it's so old a natural dent you can't help but slide into has formed in the middle by years and years of use.  
Their legs are touching.  
Sherlock finds he doesn't really mind.  
Talking with John is....nice......it comes easy.  
Their conversation flows from one topic to the next with ease.  
John is easy to laugh and smile and Sherlock finds he would do anything..... _anything_ at all to make John smile.  
A smiling John Watson is a thing of beauty and he finds himself getting lost in the radiance of it all. 

“So”, he finds himself saying, “you hid the key just to get me to stay inside tonight.”

They still haven't called anyone to go and find the key and spring them free. The urgency to do so has passed. They both seem more than content with their current situation. 

John chuckles again and once again a warm tingling sensation spreads from Sherlock's lower abdomen through his chest all the way to his head where it makes his face flush and his thoughts woozy. 

“Guilty”, John says, still smiling, “it was the only thing I could think of to get you to talk to me. You've been running from me for three months now....I was getting desperate.”

John presses his leg a little bit firmer against Sherlock's and the warm sensation of it almost makes Sherlock forget what he wanted to say but he manages to hang on to the words...just barely. 

“Desperate? Desperate for what?” he asks as he takes another sip of his tea. 

“To ask you out.”

The sip of tea he was taking turns into a panicked gulp and he ends up doubled over coughing trying to get the liquid out of his trachea again. 

John is gently rubbing his back. It does nothing to calm him down. 

“Easy, easy”, John says. From the corner of his eyes Sherlock can see there is an amused smile on his face. 

“Not funny, John”, he says. But this time he doesn't quite manage to put the required bite in his voice. 

“It is a little bit”, John's tone is playful and soft and Sherlock simultaneously wishes they were and weren't sitting as close as they are now. 

He's stopped coughing by now but John's hand is still on his back. His touch light and carefree. 

“You shouldn't joke about.....that”, he finally manages. The gentle pressure of John's fingers on his back is more than a bit distracting. 

“Who says I'm joking?”

“You're straight.”

“Says who?”

John looks genuinely confused now. Almost just as confused as Sherlock feels. 

“Your scores of girlfriends.”

Finally....finally John's confidence seems to falter a little bit as the smallest hint of a blush can be seen and the fingers on Sherlock's back tense up ever so slightly. 

“I'm bi.”

“Oh.”

“So?”

“So.....what?” Sherlock is still very, very confused....not only is John not as straight as he was led to believe....he still doesn't know how he hadn't been able to deduce that before....but....then again....he hasn't allowed himself an awful lot of opportunities to deduce anything about John these last couple of months.....if he really thinks about it........so he just choses not to think....and just focus on John's leg pressed firmly against his, John's hand on his back and John's other hand that, somehow, has managed to find it's way to his right knee. 

“Will you go out with me?” there is a mischievous twinkle in the depths of John's eyes that reminds Sherlock of sunlight on a clear lake on a summers day and he couldn't say no even if he wanted to. 

So he just smiles, cast his eyes down and nods. The hand on his knee squeezes ever so gently. 

“I was hoping you would say that”, John says. 

A couple moments of silence go by then where, once more, they just enjoy each others company. Sherlock finds that just “enjoying” comes surprisingly easy with John. And he silently berates himself for running away from him for all those months.  
But he won't run anymore now. John wants to go out with him....John is apparently bisexual....who knew.....John is here......John is gorgeous......John is touching him......John _wants_ to touch him.......John....

“There is one problem with going out though”, John says. 

“What?”, Sherlock only half succeeds in pulling himself out of his own daydreams about John. 

“We still don't have a key.”

Another moment of silence before they both erupt in uncontrollable laughter. 

In the end they just decide to stay in for the night. They'll come up with a solution in the morning.  
Tonight, they find that they both much rather would just like to stay home anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Quickly written because I haven't written anything in literal months.  
> I'm just trying to get back into the groove of things before I try and add another chapter to one of my multi-chapter fics.  
> I hope this was still enjoyable nonetheless. 
> 
> Inspired by the song: "Let's stay home tonight", by " Needtobreathe".


End file.
